


When Walls Collapse

by actionpackedlips



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, I added a fix it part, I'm Sorry, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, No really this is sad, for those who need happy endings, just kidding, ugh this will make your heart hurt that's your last warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actionpackedlips/pseuds/actionpackedlips
Summary: What happens when you get a prompt for a building falling on Deadpool and Spider-Man?This angsty sad fic of Peter Parker holding a building up over the man he's never admitted he loves.Well, that's about to change.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 35
Kudos: 522
Collections: Isn't it Bromantic?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For silvyri and the prompt they left over at the Isn't It Bromantic? discord server.
> 
> I personally don't like reading sad endings, and can barely believe I wrote this. So I won't blame you if you want to turn back now.
> 
> 'Cause this is sad, friends.
> 
> Enjoy!

They’d wound up in the basement of the building because for some reason, that’s where evil scientists always wanted to hide their secret labs. The minute when you found said lab though, of fucking _course_ , a bomb was set to go off. Like they were in some James Bond movie.

Just as the information they’d come for was acquired, Peter had felt an uncomfortable tingle run down his neck, the tell tale sign of _get the fuck out of ther_ e. So they had. Run out of there, that is. Because the elevators had been rendered unusable when Deadpool had cut the power, which had only been supposed to be for the security cameras, as they were trying to recon this mission _without_ fanfare, much to Deadpool’s chagrin.

“Oops.” Had been Deadpool’s only comment when everything had gone dark around them, perched on the ledge of an adjacent building. He’d cut the power grid to the whole damn block, not just to the cameras in the targeted building. Peter had facepalmed but continued on, unsure, really, why he’d even allowed himself to trust the other super when he'd convinced Peter he could “totally do that, yeah, easy peasy lemon squeezy”. Nothing with Deadpool was easy, but Peter kind of liked that and—

 _Not the time._ His legs burned from the millions of stairs they were racing up, needing to get to a window, at least, so they could break through and he could swing them to safety.

“Why did they need a secret lab _this far down_ ,” Peter griped, thighs burning.

“Because it’s _Hydra_ , baby boy, they’re nazi’s. Being inconsiderate is in their DNA,” Deadpool bitched from several paces behind him, bogged down by the boatload of weapons he’d decided to bring despite Peter having been very clear he wouldn’t be using them. He wasn’t sure why he’d brought that many with him anyway, when he clearly played favorites, ignoring most of them in favor of a fair few. It only made him lumpy and heavy when Peter held him, whenever he was swinging or climbing along with the other man—

Peter stopped, suddenly, and Deadpool collided hard against his back.

He prodded him harshly, “Not the time to wonder if you left the stove on, Spidey, get that cute tush a-movin’.”

Peter shook his head, realizing in his panic he forgot he could _climb walls._

“Hop on.” 

Deadpool looked confused through the mask, and Peter _still_ had no idea how he was easily able to convey his emotions through it.

Peter crouched slightly and instructed, “Hop on my back, I’ll climb up the walls quicker than we can run up these steps.”

Deadpool cackled and jumped on, “I knew I loved you for your brain, and not just that poppin’ booty.”

Peter huffed at the comment, even if it gave him a pleased tingle, and took the weight easily, “Hold on tight. If you fall off, I’m not coming back to pick up your pieces.”

Deadpool nuzzled Peter’s neck as he stuck himself to the wall and began climbing.

“Liar,” was all the man at his back said.

Yeah, Peter didn’t say out loud, not wanting to encourage him.

With their faster pace, he felt more confident they’d make it out okay. The door they needed to reach was only a few more flights, and once they got through it he’d have Deadpool shoot the large glass pane windows there and swing them to safety. What was that phrase Deadpool had used, oh yeah, _easy peasy._

Peter got to the door, his hand just about to pull it open when he heard the absence of the clicking timer that had originally signaled the bomb. _Fuck._

“Hey, Spidey, why’d you s—” But Deadpool didn’t get to finish his sentence before the place exploded, everything collapsing and pushing and they were falling and his ears were ringing, oh god, it was so loud, and it hurt so bad in Peter’s head—

He must have lost a bit of time, because when he came too everything was starting to settle from the explosion; dark and dusty and dangerous.

He coughed, and attempted to sit up but he didn’t have much space to work with. There was a large slab of cement just inches in front of him. Thank god for his enhanced vision, it made it easier to access what was going on. He saw a piece of rebar was holding the particular piece in front of him up, but it wasn’t secure, nothing was fucking secure, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d have before the piece bent and snapped under the pressure of an _entire fucking building—_

His breath quickened, and a groan came from underneath him. Oh yeah, _Deadpool._

“Hey, DP,” he whispered to the man he was laying on top of, “You okay?”

Another groan and then, “Something’s getting pretty personal with my medulla oblongata, but otherwise I think I’m okay.”

Peter huffed out a laugh at Deadpool throwing out ridiculous medical terms at a time like this. A concerning groan came from above them as weight shifted, putting more pressure on that tiny piece of metal keeping them from being squished. Peter glanced worriedly at it.

He had more faith in himself keeping them alive than that piece of metal.

“I’m going to turn around,” Peter decided, “because I’m pretty sure this piece in front of us is about to collapse and I don’t want to be a pancake today.”

“You’d be a delicious pancake,” Deadpool said, slurring slightly.

Peter was relatively unscatched, except for a few bruises and superficial cuts. His landing had clearly been softened by Deadpool, and he wondered what injury the other man was currently attempting to heal from that he likely wouldn’t voice to Peter, lest he worry the younger man. He didn’t have much room, but if he went slow enough he might be able to turn around and then he could check for himself that Deadpool was truly okay.

Because their levels of ‘okay’ were drastically different from one another.

He turned over slowly, heaving his shoulder up tentatively, and it pushed against the piece in front of him, the space almost too tight to turn in. He continued on, his other shoulder digging into the man below him, and he heard a soft wheeze at the pressure.

He whispered his apologies as he continued to shift, weight bearing down on his side before he flipped fast, and suddenly he was on his hands and knees, hovering over Deadpool, the weight of a 20 or so story building putting painful pressure along his back. He moaned through gritted teeth, and his arms shook, but he could hold it for a while, he told himself. Perhaps not forever, but enough for him to check Deadpool for injuries and try and figure out a plan before he fully panicked.

His eyes flickered down at the man he’d fallen on, whose left leg was sprawled at an odd angle and indeed a bunch of rubble and brick were piled behind his head.

But he was awake and blinking in the darkness he couldn’t see through like Peter, and so Peter said, “I’m okay, I’m not hurt, just casually holding a whole building up, though, so let’s start brainstorming.”

Deadpool shifted now that Peter’s weight wasn’t directly on him, and he groaned in pain as he straightened his leg so it would heal correctly, and wiggled his hand up so he could unlodged the brick from the back of his head.

“I had Dopinder waiting for me a few blocks away,” Deadpool told him, “So hopefully he’ll notice the giant ass explosion and call for help.”

Peter sucked in a painful breath. He didn’t recommend anyone adding ‘holding up a building’ as an exercise to their arm’s day routine at the gym.

“We’re going to need a little more than EMS and the fire brigade,” Peter reminded him.

“He’ll call Weasel, more likely.”

Peter rolled his eyes behind the mask, “How’s that any more helpful?”

“Because he’ll call your merry men of avengement, duh,” Deadpool explained, as if it was that simple.

It was so far from that simple.

Peter wanted to facepalm badly, but couldn’t. He didn’t realize how much he did it around the other man until the function of his arms had been taken away.

“Wade,” he asked seriously, “how is he going to get a hold of them?”

“He’ll—” Deadpool went silent. Then, “Shit.”

Exactly.

“Maybe Batman had something going with that bat signal thing, _fuck_.” 

Peter laughed, unamused, and coughed as he accidently inhaled through his mask whatever was floating around in the tiny, tiny, space with them. 

“I mean,” Deadpool reassured quickly, “he has his ways. I’m sure he’ll get to them somehow.”

Both of them knew, though, they didn’t have time for whatever lengthy methods of contacting the Avengers would take.

Deadpool suddenly seized and said, triumphant, “I have my phone on me!” 

He fumbled into one of his pouches, but Peter didn’t let himself get excited. This far down and this covered in rubble there most likely wouldn’t be—

“No signal!” Deadpool cursed and dropped the phone. "Fuck Verizon, I'm switching to AT&T."

In his disappointment he neglected to lock it, and the screen stayed on to help illuminate the small dark space.

Suddenly a crash of something falling came from above them, and the weight seemed to triple along Peter’s back. His arms trembled even more, and now? Now he was panicking.

He couldn’t stop the little groans and moans of pain that escaped him as he held up the building, tears filling his eyes not only at the pain but the hopelessness of their situation. This would literally be the last time he let himself get sucked into schemes against Hydra. This would be the end.

He’d always thought he’d go out by his web fluid running out mid-swing, or maybe from slipping and falling off a particularly tall building.

He hadn’t thought he’d get squished to death _by_ a building.

He certainly had never thought Wade would be with him when it happened, and even if Wade would walk away fine from this, ‘cause he would, what would having Peter, the man he’d been persistently trying to get with all these years, die _right in front of him_ do to him? Deadpool already had enough tragic backstory to give Harry Potter a run for his money, this might just tip him over the scale and _Peter didn’t want that._ He wanted the man to know that if he could go back, he’d change it all. He’d say yes to the first ridiculous date proposal, lean in to all the inappropraite ass gropes, and he’d have let him see his face long ago. If only so he’d have so many more memories of it beyond this one where it was pain-filled and tear-streaked and looking so very, very terrified.

“ _Wade_ ,” he gasped the name he knew but never used, gritting his teeth against the pain, forcing his lungs to fill with air even if every inhale was painful, “I want you to know—”

“No,” Deadpool shook his head frantically, and his arms came up to grip gently at Peter’s biceps, “You don’t get to do the part where you tell me everything you wish you’d done differently. You're perfect and we’re gonna be fine.”

“ _You’re_ gonna be fine,” he argued.

Deadpool went still and silent. Peter used it as an opportunity to continue.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve acted towards you,” he aplogized hastily, as the pressure seemed to increase along his back. Or maybe that was just his body starting to give out, either way he needed to hurry.

“I-I know I always brushed off your advances, and I can’t begin to imagine how that must have felt.” He hiccuped against a sob, “But I was scared. I was scared of what it could have become, and who we could have been to each other.”

He took another painful, shaky breath, “Scared of how much you _mean_ to me.”

Wade’s hands squeezed his trembling arms and gave Peter the strength to continue; the strength to keep this building from falling down on top of them.

“I don’t have the best track record when it comes to those I care about. I-I guess I still don’t…”

He cleared his throat against the thickness of his tears, “But you’ve always been different. Made me feel different, special. In ways even being a superhero never made me feel. I just want you to know that if I could, I’d say yes to it all. Ice cream dates in the dead of Winter, and tagging along to your daughters birthday party, _meeting your daughter—”_

His flowing tears were starting to make his mask stick uncomfortably to his skin. Why was he even still wearing this stupid thing?

“Wade,” he gasped out, “take my mask off.”

That shook Deadpool from his stunned silence, “What? No! Listen, you’re only saying all this because—”

“Even if I am,” he ground out through clenched teeth, the weight becoming almost unbearable, “it doesn’t make it less true. _Take it off, Wade.”_

The commanding growl in his voice caused a shiver to run through the man below him, and Peter felt a pang of loss. He’d never get to figure out how else he could get Wade to shiver and tremble below him, in ways that weren’t of the life-threatening variety.

Wade’s hands slid up his arms and curled just underneath the bottom of his mask near his neck.

“Spidey...” his voice was hesitant in a way Peter had never heard before. This was becoming a night of many firsts for them.

And lasts, he supposed.

“Please,” Peter whispered and that was all it took to encourage Wade, his hands shaking slightly as he trailed the mask up and over Peter's mouth, to the bridge of his nose.

He paused, and Peter licked at his dry lips before saying, “All the way.”

Wade’s swallow was loud in the shared space, and then Peter was blinking free of the mask, eyelashes uncomfortably clumped together, eyes burning from the combination of his tears and the dust particles in the air.

Now he just needed one more thing. 

“Y-You don’t have to take your mask off all the way, but can you-”

His arm gave out suddenly and he yelped, the other nearly snapping under the weight it bore by itself. He scrambled back up, but the weight was too much, and his arms buckled, bent now under the weight that had pushed down further. He was still holding it off them, but it wouldn’t be long now.

“Please, Wade.” He begged desperately under the pain of it all, “I can’t wake up in bed with you, or-or share breakfast together after long patrol nights, but I can have this now. _We_ can have this now. Let me kiss you. _Please._ Let me show you how much I—”

Suddenly Wade was moving, lifting his own mask hurriedly to get his lips free and finally, _finally,_ their mouths were slotting together. Wade’s hand moved delicately up over the side of his neck, slotting intimately there to cradle the back of Peter’s head.

The kiss was nothing a first time kiss should be. It was wet and messy and _sad._ It was regretful and mournful in its finiality. His eyes burned with more tears as Wade’s scarred, soft, so soft, lips finally met his own. 

At least he’d have one less regret, now.

They broke apart, chests heaving with emotion, and Peter finally told him, right before his arms gave out completely, “My name’s Peter Parker and I love you, Wade Wilson.”  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA. Just kidding.
> 
> I fixed it.
> 
> I fixed my own angst. Because I can't handle sadness if it doesn't end happy.
> 
> If you like sadness, don't read this. The first part of this story can certainly be how it ends. BUT!! If you're like me and can't stand that, now I've put a lil bandaid on it for you.
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter had woken up in a bright room and figured, hey, heaven must be real after all, and he must have saved enough people to get in.

In reality, though, he’d made it to Stark’s impressive medical wing, but close enough, right? It felt like heaven because he was _alive_. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how it’d all happen, even with Tony attempting to explain it three separate times.

The concussion, broken clavicle and right arm, with a ruptured something or other made it hard to concentrate. He was in a lot of pain, and Tony was talking too much. 

It took a good week before they’d even discussed releasing him, and Peter played the good boy until then. 

The sad, bandaged, depressed boy who’d wondered where the hell Wade was.

Once he’d healed enough to get out of the fog of painkillers, he’d asked Tony about it. The scowl on his face had said enough, even if Tony hadn’t said it outloud.

Apparently, he’d been there by his side up until the point Peter woke up. Which meant Wade had spent several days camped out in an uncomfortable hospital chair, making Tony’s life miserable.

It had brought a smile to Peter’s face.

Now, though, he was worried.

Peter had spilled everything he’d so careful kept in for _years_. He’d been sad and desperate and prepared to _die_. Like, come on, cut a guy a break. How was he supposed to take all that back? How was he supposed to continue on with the knowledge of what Wade’s lips felt like against his own?

(Salty from tears, but soft and so _very perfect_ , even in near-death.)

He didn’t think he could continue on as he had before. Letting Wade pant after him while he continued to dodge his advances, pretending it wasn’t what he wanted. Peter didn’t want to, now. With everything out between them, and the very sudden realization that tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed, he didn’t think he could do it. Pretend.

He was just worried about what Wade really wanted. The silence had not been reassuring.

Peter jumped as a text buzzed through his phone almost as soon as he was discharged out of Stark’s medical wing. It was a simple question to meet up, with a time and place to meet Wade that day. The text looked so out of place in their typical thread of conversation; filled with eggplant emojis, memes, and fanart of them together. All sent from Wade, of course. 

A second text pinged through.

**_Please._ **

Peter’s stomach flipped with nerves. He wasn’t sure he was ready, now. What was he going to say? What _could_ he say that would top a love proclamation while supporting a crumbling building?

He texted out an **_Okay._ ** and sent it, shoving the phone into his pants pocket and forgetting about it. (It didn’t buzz again, anyway.)

Later that day, Peter paced in front of the small taco joint Wade had decided on. It wasn’t one of their favorites, which he was glad for. If this went bad he didn’t want their favorite place ruined with bad memories, but maybe if this didn’t end tragically they could go inside for some food.

Peter was starving. Also, he was trying to be optimistic.

Now it just seemed stupid.

A week and a day with no word until now from the man he’d kissed before his imminent death, and he was already thinking up their first date?

“Get real, Parker,” he muttered.

“Talking to yourself? That’s supposed to be my schtick.”

Peter startled. He hadn’t even heard Wade approach. What were his damn senses even good for? Other than holding up buildings, of course.

He glanced over to the other man, mouth dropping open in surprise.

Wade stood in front of him in civvies. Without his suit on. Without his katanas. Without weapons (that Peter could see, anyway). No, it was just Wade in blue jeans, hunched over slightly, hands shoved into the simple zip up black hoodie he wore. He didn’t even have the hood up, and Peter could see perfectly the way his scars ran all over his bald head, around his expressive deep set eyes, to his lips; the lips he’d never forget kissing. 

The memory of how they’d felt pressed against his own would be branded into his mind forever.

Peter was shocked into silence. 

The pain of those silent seconds ticking by gathered in Wade’s eyes and he shook his head, as if knowing this was a bad idea, and flipped his hood up to shroud his face in darkness.

He was just about to turn away when Peter snapped out of it, feeling heartless because Wade thought it was _him_ causing Peter to hesitate. In reality Peter just wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t still trapped under that building, synapses firing off to give him the best final fantasy his dying brain could conjure up.

Sometimes he hated being a scientist.

“Wait,” Peter called out to stop him, “I-I just haven’t ever seen you without your costume on before…”

He turned back around, to glance at Peter.

“Well,” Wade began sincere, and a tad bit vulnerable, “I figured you laid yourself bare, now it’s my turn.”

Peter smiled, hopeful, and took the few steps it was to close the distance between them, looking up into Wade’s eyes.

Wade’s bare equally scarred hand came to rest along his cheek softly, as his eyes scanned his, and his thumb swiped tenderly over the top of his cheekbone.

Peter felt his eyes beginning to water, the emotions of this whole week, and the memory of him almost dying, rushing back to him at once. He sniffled, and tilted his head down. God, how embarrassing.

“Hey…” Wade whispered softly, tilting his chin back up. He swiped at the tears that escaped Peter’s eyes, and Wade’s started to glisten, too.

“God, Peter.” His voice cracked but his name falling from Wade’s lips sounded perfect, “You didn’t need to be _dying_ to get me to kiss you.”

Peter laughed wetly and surged up, lips meeting Wade’s.

This kiss was everything their first kiss should have been.

Happy and hopeful and sure, maybe a little bit wet, but he was just so, so _thankful_ to be alive.

So he could use every minute to show this man how much he loved him.


End file.
